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Under guise of twilight
Ruby Starlight sang a song in tongues understood
by no one but you and I,
“and that’s okay,” i thought…”just one more thing,”
I thought, “for you and i, for you and i.”
A diamond’s fire light beckoned our gaze
& we sat and dreamt while awake w/gods and men.
A dream or two,
a feast or three,
I just want one or none,
or all or some.
Who said-like you-
“these things will come in time?”
I need them to be or not at all,
and I’ll wait for love of health and sanity.
I’ll wait, Ruby, I’ll wait.
-Josh Peterson
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I once read this children’s story about this kid who wanted to paint the sunset, but he was told that he wouldn’t be able to unless he had a certain type of paintbrush that could help him capture the colors and the textures in a sunset. Every time I see a sunset, I think of that story. Tonight, as I was walking back up the hill to use the internet in the student center, I looked west and saw these magnificent clouds that resembled volcanic plumes of smoke colored by the kind of lavender-gray blues, pastel oranges and pinks that you can only find in pop-culture at Easter-time. There had been a storm earlier, and what I saw when I looked heavenward was just a reminder of how much smaller I actually am than I think I am in comparison with not even the cosmos, but in the distance between me and the horizon. As I walked up the street, the contrast of the light and the shadows of the coming dusk brought out colors that on any other night I would have ignored, and sometimes in the shadows we mistake one thing to be something entirely other than what it is. For example, one night I walked past a possum that hid in the brush and hissed at me like a goblin.
Every time I see a sunset, I think of that story, because the sky always looks like a hyper-real painting to me…sometimes it looks too good to be true that anyone painted it. It looks like a painting that I am so far removed from, and yet, I am part of that painting…
When you fly in an airplane, when you sky-dive, or do any other thing that resembles Icarus and Daedalus’ imitation of the birds, you touch the clouds and you ascend above them only to be revealed mountains and cities made of those very same clouds. That perception of separation ceases to be troublesome because any gap that once was there no longer matters., and once again we realize we are still part of that painting; a painting that contains wolves dressed like sheep, robbers impersonating cops, poets who persistently woo unfaithful whores, and subjects who crucify their own king. The crux of this painting centers around a wedding feast where a son finally receives his beautiful and long-awaited bride, and what was once tattered, used, and torn is made new. This was all in that sunset, the one that was too hard to paint unless you had that certain brush. Maybe. Hopefully.
Amen.
-Josh Peterson
Blogged with the Flock Browser
A fog has set in over Hillsdale. Tonight, as I walked home along familiar streets, wet from the day’s precipitation, I could not help but notice the fog. I’m staying one month longer in a town that is capable of having all of its traffic lights signal green with no cars traveling on the road to pass through them, and all I want to do is leave. My delayed departure was the result of partial desire and complete necessity: to finish my thesis, finish recording with the band, and find a job. There has been a pretty tight-knit community of people who live here, have stayed here for summer school, or like me, have yet to leave. While I enjoy the peace and quiet, as a recent college graduate there is nothing for me here, save my friends who still attend the college.
The fog is that autumn and spring-time fog; the one which takes on the hues of a peach thanks to the street-lights, and glows lilke a deep fuzzy red balloon at the street intersections. It reminds me of so many wonderful and tragic events that make up the contents of my college career, including the year I spent in Minneapolis. I long for it to really feel like summer, and I desperately want to leave this town and move on with my life. I’ve sworn off beer and McDonald’s for the month of June, and I’ve started intensively working out again. I frequently do this whenever I need to focus, and currently my focus is on making my next few steps really count.
There is a light out in the kitchen, and my kitchen faucet drips ever once in a while into a bowl I had used earlier tonight to hold the Ramen I ate for dinner. My window is open and I can hear the sound of a few cars in the distance. What I wouldn’t give to be in a metropolis hearing that sound – because hearing that sound in that context would mean I was well on my way to making something of myself. If I went home to MN, I fear I might settle into old routines and never grow as much as I could outside of familiar territory. So, my target destination is D.C., although I am prepared to move back to MN if I have to.
My dad asked me in an email the other day if I felt “called” to go to D.C. While I’m not sure that feeling “called” is the right word, or idea, I have felt drawn to that city for some time, and my goal is to take advantage of the opportunities that city has to offer. I don’t think I will stay in D.C. forever, but for now all of my arrows are headed that way. I’ve applied to several jobs out that way, and the sending of several more await the click of a button. I hope it rains tomorrow. Rain means I’m inside all day finishing everything I need in order to leave Hillsdale. My lease is up on the 30th. I want to be on the road then, instead of walking down West St. one more time. I hope it rains then too, and if not, I hope there’s a fog because that’s how I remember this place. The sunsets, late nights and sunrises, the people, the rainclouds, cups of coffee, and the midnight fog.
-Josh Peterson
Blogged with the Flock Browser
